


Domestic Bliss

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Foursome, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 04:30:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras/Grantaire/Courfeyrac/Combeferre, at a friend’s request. Mostly fluff and humour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Domestic Bliss

“Has everybody been worked to their satisfaction?”

“You’re an idiot, Courfeyrac.” Combeferre said, the words muffled by the pillow he pressed his face to.

“I agree.” Grantaire murmured, turning to nip at Courfeyrac’s collarbone. “Ingrate.”

Courfeyrac curled a hand in Grantaire’s hair, grinning at him. “I do it only to please you, my darling.” Enjolras chuckled a little, his hands moving to play over Grantaire’s shoulders, and Combeferre reached over Enjolras’ hip to trace over Grantaire’s.

“I feel I’ve died and gone to Heaven.”

“You’re not going to Heaven when you die.” Courfeyrac said, scoffing, before catching him in a quick kiss.

“Aren’t I?”

“Probably not.” Grantaire hummed, thoughtful.

“You’re likely right.” With Grantaire and Enjolras in the middle and Courfeyrac and Combeferre on the left and right respectively, the four of them were warm enough (particularly given that this was post-coitus), but Enjolras insisted on pulling a sheet up and around him anyway.

“I could warm you up.” Grantaire suggested in a purr, and Enjolras huffed.

“I prefer cloth for sleeping.”

“I’m insulted.”

“You’re an idiot.” Grantaire laughed.

“Won’t argue with you there. But then,  _you_  can hardly say that.”

“I’m not an idiot.”

“You’re a pretty idiot. What was it you said earlier?” Grantaire asked, looking thoughtful, and Enjolras spat.

“Your cynicism in everything I do is unfounded!”

“Your oversimplifications of  _life_ , which, as I regularly remind you, is a very complicated thing, are unfounded. I-”

“ **Both**  of you are unfounded. Shut up!” Combeferre snapped, and both looked to regard him.

“We’re just trying to-”

“No.” Combeferre interrupted Enjolras.

“But-”

“ _No_.” Combeferre interrupted Grantaire.

“But-”

“ **Shush.** ” Combeferre put his hand over Enjolras’ mouth, who made no attempt to struggle away, but fixed Combeferre with a silent, affronted glare. “Courfeyrac, switch places with Grantaire.” Courfeyrac faked a snore in the hopes of not having to move. “ _Courfeyrac_.” Combeferre prompted, and the centre groaned before dragging himself over Grantaire’s body and flopping between him and Enjolras. “No more arguing. It is time to sleep.”

Grantaire elbowed Courfeyrac in the side. Courfeyrac pinched Grantaire’s nipple, drawing a yelp from him, and then they were wrestling, Grantaire atop Courfeyrac and trying to pin his arms above his head.

“For  _fuck’s_  sake.” Combeferre grabbed Grantaire and pushed him off Courfeyrac, taking his place between Grantaire and Courfeyrac and leaving Enjolras on the end. “Please. God, please. We will  _sleep_. No wrestling. No arguing. Or so help me, I will tie up all three of you and gag you to boot.”

“Kinky.” Grantaire’s comment was met with a silent glower.

Courfeyrac moulded his body against Combeferre’s as he slept, and on his other side, Grantaire did much the same thing. Enjolras took the covers to himself, and curled into a small, compact ball. He slept peacefully, untroubled by the other three pressing together.

Enjolras overheated too easily when in contact with other people, and he couldn’t very well kick Grantaire or Courfeyrac off as he did the cover when he got too hot. Well, to amend that, he  _could_ , but not without repercussions.

They awoke late in the morning, but no complaints were made about remaining in bed for a time. Enjolras pressed close to the other three once he was awake, and after a few minutes, Courfeyrac had bundled the blond into his lap, holding him closely. Enjolras grinned, enjoying the warmth.

“Are we getting up?” Combeferre asked.

“No.”

“No.”

“No.”

“Wrong answer.” Combeferre slid out of bed, dragging Grantaire with him, despite the shorter man’s groans of protest. They threw on pyjama pants, and after a few moments, Courfeyrac sighed and followed after them, leaving Enjolras alone in bed. They stumbled downstairs and into the kitchen, and Courfeyrac began pulling eggs from the fridge as Grantaire and Combeferre set out plates for breakfast.

Ten minutes later, Combeferre took over cooking. “It wouldn’t burn if you didn’t put the hob so high.”

“If I put the hob as low as you did, it would take years.” Courfeyrac muttered.

“If you put the hob as low as I did, you would get food quicker, because I wouldn’t have to take over from you.” Courfeyrac huffed, and settled to watch Combeferre cook with his expert hands. Enjolras stumbled down the stairs a few minutes later, huddled in the thick duvet that had been folded on top of the wardrobe.

“Cold?” Courfeyrac asked, and Enjolras nodded, moving into the living room. They ate watching the breakfast show, the three quieter of them ignoring Enjolras’ bitter grumbles about that morning’s choice of interviews, and his louder grumbles about the news updates every half hour or so.

Grantaire moved from his armchair and went upstairs, returning dressed, and he settled at his easel with his oil paints, working carefully on a landscape scene. “Whoa!” Courfeyrac nearly yelled when he stood and took a glance at Grantaire’s work, moving up behind him and laying his hand on the other’s shoulder. “What the fuck, man?”

Grantaire whipped his head around, staring at the other man before looking concernedly back to the painting. “What, what is it?”  
“Combeferre, have you seen this motherfucking shit?” Grantaire’s eyes were wide, and he looked somewhat distressed as he looked from the canvas to Courfeyrac. “Did you fucking  _sell your soul!?_  Have you seen how fucking gorgeous this is?” This question was directed at Grantaire, who stared blankly at Courfeyrac.

“Enjolras, have you  _seen_  this beautiful man?”

“I’ve seen him.”

“Look at this shit, so beautiful!”

“Grantaire’s beautiful, yes.” Enjolras said this without looking away from the television screen, and Courfeyrac was almost whining as he changed his target.

“ _Combeferre_ -”

“Yes, Courfeyrac, Grantaire paints very well, we know-”

“No,  _look_.” Courfeyrac demanded, and Combeferre reluctantly stood from his place on the couch to look.

“Oh. Oh, no, actually, that’s especially good. Even better than usual.” Combeferre said, peering with interest. “God, Grantaire, that’s beautiful.”

Grantaire’s cheeks were flushed a bright scarlet.

“He’s not going to agree with you.” Enjolras said from the couch, not looking away from the television. “Never does.”

“He doesn’t fuckin’ have to agree with me: I’m taller than him, I have precedence.” Combeferre blinked at Courfeyrac.

“Where does that logic come from?”

“Shush, look at Grantaire’s gorgeous painting.” Combeferre chuckled, moving into the kitchen to set about chopping vegetables for dinner later. Courfeyrac perched on Grantaire’s stool and watched him work with fascination. Enjolras moved upstairs when the breakfast show finished, to work, and when Combeferre put the pot in the oven to stew, he returned to the living room.

He and Courfeyrac settled either side of Grantaire on the sofa, ready to settle and watch a movie. Enjolras stumbled into the room at this point, wearing his pyjamas still. He looked at his lovers on the three-person couch, and then he looked at the empty armchair.

He did not settle in the armchair.

Courfeyrac and Grantaire groaned as Enjolras sprawled across their three laps, pulling a cushion out from behind Courfeyrac and putting his head on it. Combeferre just gently tapped his calf, looking somewhat endeared.

“He’s the lightest of us, at least.” Combeferre said cheerfully, earning him glares from the other two.

Courfeyrac took his revenge by plaiting Enjolras’ hair, but Enjolras made no complaint about it other than a few annoyed huffs.

Later that evening, when the other amis joined them for a meal, he even let Jean Prouvaire weave a flower or two into it.


End file.
